


Summer Storms and Fairy Magic

by topleaf



Series: Seasons of Bagginshield [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cultural Differences, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Quest of Erebor, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, thorin is OBLIVIOUS and kind of a dumbass but i love him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topleaf/pseuds/topleaf
Summary: Thorin has been warned to be wary of the fairy folk who seduce travelers and drag them into their underground lairs, but when a fairy offers him shelter from a summer storm, he learns that everything he heard about them was completely wrong. Or, perhaps, not really wrong at all. Just a little unexpected.or,In which Thorin thinks hobbits are magical fairies, because why else would he feel this way around Bilbo Baggins?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Seasons of Bagginshield [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891498
Comments: 51
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A summery story that will lead us into autumn :) 
> 
> Just a little note: this takes place in an AU where these 2 meet when Bilbo is just past his coming-of-age, and Thorin is also a little younger. Just remember that this isn't canon compliant. Enjoy!
> 
> p.s. A huge thank you to my amazing beta reader, [thomas-lightwood-floats-my-boat.](https://thomas-lightwood-floats-my-boat.tumblr.com/)

* * *

“Damn these trees,” Thorin cursed. 

As usual, Dís was right. Of course Thorin would get lost in the Bindbole Wood. He had lost the path, which was barely a path to begin with, and had strayed too far into the forest. 

Thorin dabbed at his sweaty brow before rolling up his sleeves. The air was thick and humid, and the blotches of sky between the tangled mess of branches and leaves were slowly turning a sinister grey. Thorin jumped when a flock of crows flapped and cawed above him, much too close for his liking. 

“Calm yourself, Oakenshield. You are a Durin, a vanquisher of orc armies, a battle-hardened Khuzd. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Thorin trudged on, for the woods had to end somewhere, and whether he’d emerge from the way he came or somewhere else entirely, he’d eventually find his way home, right? Beads of sweat dripped down his temples and his waterskin was almost empty. Thorin was perfectly capable of setting up a camp and sleeping on a bedroll, but he feared what the trees might do to him while he was unguarded in the night. This whole escapade to get supplies seemed like a ridiculous idea after all. 

A snapping twig made him tighten his grip on his sword. He breathed out a sigh of relief when a brown rabbit raced in front of him. Thorin’s mind turned to the food he had brought with him; enough to last him a night, surely, if it came to that. He shuddered at the thought. 

_"The roots of those trees have been known to swallow up naive travelers_ ,” he heard his Amad’s voice cautioning him. _“There’s been reports that the forest moves on its own accord, as if the trees can uproot themselves and stomp around wherever they please."_

Thorin believed it now, for how could he have gotten lost so easily? The only explanation was that the trees were tricking him; they were watching, moving, trapping him. Damn trees.

A rustling in the leaves made his heart race. “ _I heard there’s a strange magical fairy folk that lives in the forest and beyond_ ,” he could hear Fíli say, his blonde brows drawn into a dark scowl. _"T_ _hey seduce innocent travelers with their beauty and next thing you know, they’re dragging you into their underground lairs and eating you for dinner."_

 _"That’s not true!"_ Kíli exclaimed, but that night both Kíli and Fíli had knocked on Thorin’s door asking to sleep in his room (after Dís told them to bugger off of course).

“Just a scary story,” Thorin muttered, but he gulped as he plodded on. 

He removed his outer layer and slung it over his shoulder. His tunic was drenched in the sweat that clung to his furred chest, and his curly locks were heavy and frizzy. His waterskin was completely drained by the time the sound of a rushing stream touched his ears. He chased it eagerly, anxious to splash himself with it and relieve his parched throat. It was close, and he passed through the trees and bushes to find a small clearing with a thin crystal clear stream running through it. 

“Thank Mahal.” Thorin was so relieved that he almost ran straight for it without noticing the creature perched on a stump, dipping its feet in the water.

He gasped and ducked behind the bushes, heart thumping in his throat. He’d barely gotten a look at the creature, but it definitely wasn’t a dwarf or a Man. Perhaps a child? He peered above the bushes. The creature smoked a long pipe that almost reached his feet, which were submerged in the stream. It hummed a pleasant tune, and its face was that of a young human lad’s—not a child, but still less than middle age. It had a head of soft golden brown curls, and when it turned its head to the side it revealed a large leaf-like ear. It was only when the creature turned to look right in Thorin’s direction that he realized how long he’d been staring, and he ducked back under the bushes. 

_Not an elf,_ Thorin thought, and his heart stopped. _Could he be one of the fairy folk?_

“Don’t bother hiding, I already saw you,” a lilting voice called. “Come on out now, I don’t bite.”

Thorin froze, wondering whether or not he should run. The creature looked harmless, like a young dwarf without a beard, almost like Kíli before they sprouted stubble. This creature was just a little more round. And had large pointy ears. Not a _creature_ at all really, but Thorin had no other word for it. 

_They seduce innocent travelers with their beauty._ Thorin remembered. This creature didn’t look like it was capable of doing such a thing. It could not be a fairy. Perhaps Thorin’s bad eyesight was deceiving him again, and this creature was just an odd little Man, or some breed of tree-shagger. Thorin should not fear some ridiculous folktale he heard from his _nephew,_ of all people.

“Primula if you’re trying to sneak up on me it’s not going to work,” the creature said. 

No use hiding, especially if the creature was his only hope of finding his way out of these blasted woods. Thorin took a deep breath and slowly stood up. The creature flinched, pipe slipping out of its mouth. 

“Definitely not Primula,” the creature said warily. “Hello there.”

“Hello.” Thorin cleared his throat, taking a step forward, and the creature seemed to brace itself as if ready to flee. “Peace, Stranger, I am merely lost and came by this stream to quench my thirst.”

The creature relaxed a little then, watching Thorin with a frown. “Are you a hunter?”

“I merely ventured into these woods to look for herbs and firewood for my family.”

The creature tutted at that. “Not the brightest idea, the trees of these woods are known to hold grudges.”

“And do they?” Thorin blurted, shivering when a gust of warm wind rustled the trees around the clearing. 

The creature hummed in response, a twinkle in its eye. “Watch out, the trees get hungry around this hour.”

Thorin finally approached the edge of the stream, opposite to the creature, and he could tell it was stifling laughter. “You are pulling my leg.”

“I’m not pulling anything,” the creature said, quirking a brow. It gazed off to the side to stifle a laugh, and now that he was closer, Thorin could get a better look at it. It had pointy ears indeed, and wore suspenders over a linen shirt with several buttons undone. Soft curls peaked out from its chest, and Thorin’s eyes grazed over the fair skin of its collarbone, the rolls of its neck, its moldable cheeks and the slope of its nose.

The creature’s earthy eyes met Thorin’s, and they regarded each other for a moment. It's round nose twitched like a rabbit’s. “Dear me. Your mouth is hanging open.”

Thorin’s mouth snapped shut and he blinked out of his daze. “My apologies. I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

“I beg your pardon?” The creature sputtered.

“You’re—I—well.” Thorin paused. _You’re not a fool, Oakenshield. For Durin’s sake, use your words!_ He cleared his throat. “What can I refer to you as?”

The creature cocked its head. “What wears rings without having fingers, and leaves without going anywhere?”

“Is that a riddle?” Thorin asked, crossing his arms and scowling. “I have not the talent for riddles. I am merely asking whether you are a prince or princess, or something between the two.”

“Prince or princess?” The creature scoffed. “Now you're the one speaking in riddles.”

“I promise I do not mean to,” said Thorin, and he felt the corner of his lips twitch. 

“Are _you_ a prince?” The creature asked coyly.

Thorin smirked. “Are you not?” 

“Don’t try to distract me now,” the creature lifted its chin. “I am expecting an answer to my riddle.”

“If I get it right will you tell me your name?” Thorin couldn’t stop himself now.

“Disappointing. It’s quite easy, really.” 

“So I shall call you ‘Disappointing’?” 

The creature rolled its eyes, but a smile danced across its lips. “Hopeless, you are. Lost in my woods and all.”

“Aye,” Thorin shook himself out of his strange daze, regaining the firmness in his voice. “Would you be able to point me West, in the direction of the Ered Luin?”

“Ered Luin?” The creature repeated. “You mean the Blue Mountains?”

Thorin nodded, hopeful.

The creature’s lips quirked. “Pardon my impertinence, but what _are_ you, exactly?” 

Thorin thought he’d misheard at first. A deep chuckle escaped him. “I should ask the same of you.”

“May I remind you that you have stepped into _my_ lands,” the creature said pointedly. “I am fond of visitors, but I do like to know who or what they are before they come visiting.”

“Thorin, at your service. I am a dwarf, hailing from Erebo—the Ered Luin.” It had left Thorin’s mouth before he could think. He began to seriously reconsider whether this creature could be a fairy, the way it had this effect on him.

The creature’s eyes flashed in amusement. “Well met, Thorin. Now, will you answer my riddle so I can give you my name?”

“I regret that I am quite weary,” Thorin said, the stifling heat weighing down on him again. “Alas, I will resign to calling you Fairy Princess.”

 _"Prince,"_ the creature corrected. “Good gracious, do I look like a woman to you? Just because I don’t have an entire _hedge_ on my face like you’ve got, I imagine.”

Hedge?! Thorin decided to ignore that. It wouldn’t be agreeable to anger the creature any further. “My apologies, it was rude of me to assume.” Thorin bowed his head slightly. “But you _are_ a Fairy Prince then.”

The creature let out a squeak. “I’ve heard tales of dwarves, but I never thought they could be so endearing.” He grinned playfully. “Nor be so handsome.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve heard tales of the fairy folk who dwell underground and in forests, but I never thought they could be so charming and comely.” 

The little fellow cackled at that. “Oh my, I’d very much like to take you home with me.”

“Is that so?” Thorin kneeled down to cup his hands in the stream without breaking eye contact. “And what do you plan on doing with me in your home?”

“Cheeky!” The creature exclaimed, and watched Thorin splash himself with the water. “A storm is on its way, you know. You’ll be wet-through soon enough.”

“Which is why I need to make my way home.” Thorin dabbed his dripping face with the outer layer hanging from his shoulder. The water was cool and refreshing, and he tilted his head back to let the remaining drops run through his hair and beard. He sighed when the wind picked up again, the breeze glorious against his damp skin.

“Good gracious, you’re lovely,” the creature muttered.

Thorin blinked up at him. His ears burned under the gaze of this strange and vibrant being, so soft and unthreatening but with a sharp wit and steel within. _They seduce innocent travelers with their beauty and next thing you know, they’re dragging you into their underground lairs and eating you for dinner._ The warning rang in Thorin’s ears, yet he couldn’t run away. Truly, this creature had as much reason to fear Thorin as he had to fear him, if not more. Thorin was taller and wider than him, wielding a sword and bow, yet the creature only seemed calm and curious.

“Will you give me your name?” Thorin asked.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he replied, reaching out his hand.

Thorin eyed his outstretched hand, the warning blaring in his head. Perhaps this would be how the fairy would ensnare him? Thinking Thorin was unguarded and trusting, naive and stupid, unable to resist touching this Fairy Prince; he would take his hand and sprout fangs, pinning Thorin down with vicious strength to bite him and render him unconscious so he could drag him through the dirt and devour him.

There were worse fates. Thorin was willing to take the risk. Their hands met across the stream, gentle and curious. It wasn’t a handshake, but an exploration, and Thorin felt a jolt run straight through his hand to his chest where a faint blush spread. He was no stranger to this sort of greeting, oddly similar to the ways of Men, but Thorin had never felt anything like this. This creature, Bilbo, had some sort of magic about him, there was no denying it, but this magic could not possibly be evil. 

_Oakenshield, you weak, gullible fool._ Evil or not, Thorin would not let himself be ensnared so easily by the magic spell Bilbo was casting. He was a Khuzd after all, _and_ a Durin, stronger than any mysterious woodland magic. Bilbo’s hand was soft and warm, lightly callused where a pen might rest, and he had a thumb and four fingers just like Thorin. 

“You look more like a grocer than a fairy,” were the words that decided to leave Thorin’s mouth.

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo sputtered, retracting his hand. 

“I mean,” Thorin grunted and got to his feet, brushing himself off. “You really aren’t that extraordinary.”

Bilbo furrowed his brow. “You were fawning over me a few moments ago, what broke the spell?” 

“I was not fawning,” Thorin grumbled. _So it is true, Bilbo is trying to cast a spell on me!_ “I only mean to say that you’re not much different from—” 

A _splash_ brought his attention to the stream. Bilbo lifted his feet out of the water and got up from his stump. Thorin gaped at the sight before him: a pair of giant feet piled with thick sopping wet brown hair.

“...from a dwarf,” Thorin finished, unable to tear his eyes away.

“Something the matter?” Bilbo challenged, as if daring Thorin to make a remark.

Thorin snapped himself out of it, clearing his throat. He was about to remind Bilbo to show him the way out of the forest when thunder rumbled in the distance and rain lightly plinked on their heads.

“Confounded dwarf, you made me lose track of time,” Bilbo harrumphed. He gathered up a little drawstring pouch and a yellow waistcoat that were sitting on the log next to him whilst Thorin threw his outer layer back on, flipping his hood up as the rain hammered down on them.

He squinted through the curtain of rain to see Bilbo beckoning him, grinning wildly. Thorin took a long stride across the stream and fell when his foot met with slippery rocks, knees squashing into the mud. Bilbo grabbed onto his arm, stumbling forward slightly and Thorin felt his hot breath graze his cheek.

“Do watch yourself!” Bilbo’s laughter was muffled by the roar of thunder and battering rain.

“Durin’s bollocks,” Thorin cursed. _Great, Amad will notice this mess._

“Come on!” Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s hand and pulled him along. They raced through the creaking trees, tramping over the soggy grass, mud splattering at their heels.

Bilbo knew exactly where to go, just like how Thorin was able to navigate stone halls and golden chambers, and the little thing was so quick and nimble that despite Thorin being the taller of the two, even his fastest plodding would not be of a sufficient pace and that Bilbo might abandon him at any moment. Finally they reached a dirt path that led to a clearing, and Bilbo flashed a smile at Thorin as they rushed through vast green hills under a coal-grey sky.

“Where are we going?” Thorin called, grimacing as his wet braids whipped across his face, clutching tighter onto Bilbo's hand as it made his grip slippy. 

“Just trust me!” Bilbo replied.

And although it was probably irrational, Thorin found that he was quite happy to trust this strange little thing as they ploughed through the wind and the rain; that was, of course, until Thorin felt his feet slip out from underneath him as they raced down a hill, and as the world tumbled past him, he forgot to release Bilbo's hand and so now the both of them were sliding the entire way down the soggy slope until they rolled right into a puddle of mudd. 

“Why in Arda do you wear those clonking things on your feet?” Bilbo huffed, instantly scrambling to his feet and shaking himself off rather unsuccessfully whilst Thorin vibrated with laughter, still laying on his back.

Bilbo huffed again, a small smile on his face, and shoved a sodden arm towards him, which Thorin graciously accepted, and once he had helped Thorin up, they followed a winding path the rest of the way up, still caked in brown sludge. Bright colours blurred in Thorin’s vision and it wasn’t until they slowed at the top of the hill that Thorin realized they were little round doors. Bilbo held the door of a gate open.

“Welcome to Bag-End,” Bilbo exclaimed. His eyes were squeezed shut as rivers of rain poured from his bangs.

“Is this your house?” Thorin squinted up at the green door, situated under a hill. Under a hill...as in _underground._ Thorin froze, only one boot past the gate.

“Yes, now come along,” Bilbo snapped through gritted teeth from his position now near the top of the steps leading to the house's entrance. “Pa is going to be very put-out, indeed.”

His Pa? Did he mean his father? Was his father going to be angry that Bilbo had come home late with tonight’s dinner? _"S_ _orry I’m late for dinner, Pa, this dwarf was particularly difficult to wrangle!_ ’

“Thorin!” Bilbo gave him a pleading look. “Would you like me to leave you outside? Hm?”

A disturbingly close explosion of thunder made Thorin jump, and his desperation to escape this treacherous storm made him rush through the gate and join a very impatient Bilbo Baggins up on the path to his home.

Bilbo’s hand rested on the doorknob. He wiped at his eyes before narrowing them at Thorin. “I would advise you not to try anything with those weapons of yours.” He pressed a finger into Thorin’s chest. “My mum and I could bring you down in an instant if we needed to.”

Thorin gaped at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised questionably. Bilbo’s expression was much too cheerful for someone trying to threaten him and, well, he didn't really look like the fighting type. 

“Understood,” Thorin grunted, not particularly convinced but also too miserably cold to argue and slightly too enthralled in this little creature he knew nothing about to blatantly disagree. He could hear Fíli’s words in his ears: _next thing you know, they’re dragging you into their underground lairs and eating you for dinner,_ but he was aggressively ignoring them. 

“Good.” Bilbo winked, thankfully unaware of Thorin’s inner turmoil, and so the round green door swung open. 

It was definitely too late to run away now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Thorin had never given much thought to what a fairy’s home might be like, aside from them being underground, and so when he stepped into Bilbo’s home, ‘Bag-End’, as he had called it, he was greeted with a rather pleasant surprise._  
>    
> In which Thorin meets Belladonna and struggles with bathing and dinner etiquette in a hobbit hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos on Chapter 1! Posting a nice long chapter before the end of summer. Enjoy the silliness!
> 
> p.s. Once again, a huge thank you to my amazing beta reader, [thyholyadashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thyholyadashi).

* * *

Thorin had never given much thought to what a fairy’s home might be like, aside from them being underground, and so when he stepped into Bilbo’s home, ‘Bag-End’, as he had called it, he was greeted with a rather pleasant surprise. The scent of oak, a stoked fireplace, and freshly baked bread wafted past Thorin, and the warm glow of lanterns reflecting on polished wood shone at him in such an inviting manner that he found himself gravitating towards the cosy hearth. The entrance hall was properly furnished and handsome, not at all like the damp, soily, and oozy sort of hole he might’ve imagined such a strange woodland creature to dwell in. Thorin reminded himself, however, not to be nulled into a false sense of security by this scene of comfort, for this was a fairy’s home. They were using their devious magic to lure him in so that they could eat him alive.

The click of the door shutting behind them shook him from his thoughts and Bilbo turned quickly and placed his hand on Thorin’s soaked front. “Now, _do not_ move until—”

“Bilbo!” A voice chimed from another room, and then a tiny woman in a bright green dress strode down the hallway toward them, towels in hand. Her giant hairy feet pattered against the wooden floor until she saw Thorin and stopped in her tracks. She gaped at him for a moment before narrowing her eyes at Bilbo.

“Hello Mum.” Bilbo waved sheepishly.

“Evening, my son,” the fairy mother strolled toward them slowly, a mischievous smirk on her face. “Hm, no wonder you’ve come home so late.” 

Bilbo turned to give Thorin an apologetic look before he smiled at his mother again. “Indeed, Mum, sorry about that.”

 _This is it_ , Thorin thought. _I’m going to be devoured by fairies_. Why hadn’t he just listened to his conscience? 

“Mum, this is Thorin. He’s a—”

“A dwarf, yes I can see that,” his mother said, looking Thorin up and down. “Where on Earth did you find it?”

Bilbo blushed. “I believe Thorin’s a _he_ , Mum.”

“Well, did you ask him?” Bilbo’s mother snapped, and wrapped a towel around him. “If you paid attention to the books I used to read you, you’d remember that dwarves have different views of gender than we do.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and he turned back to Thorin. “Oh dear, are you not—I did not intend to offend—”

“ _He_ is fine,” Thorin replied, astonished. 

Bilbo cleared his throat and nodded ridgedly. 

“Wonderful,” Bilbo's mother exclaimed, and held her hand out to Thorin. “Belladonna Baggins, at your service.”

“Thorin Oakenshield at yours.” 

Her hand was tiny compared to his, but Thorin felt traces of scars and healed calluses, signs that Thorin recognized as past adventures and training with a bow. 

“Now, you two are a pair of great galumphing muddy messes.” Belladonna tutted, hands on her hips. 

“Mum, please,” Bilbo sighed, shivering and bunching his towel under his chin.

“You will both need a bath before Bungo lets you set foot in the dining room,” Belladonna continued. “I’ll get a fresh wash basin for those grimy feet of yours.”

Thorin looked down at Bilbo and himself. Both of them were caked in mud from their knees to their toes. The grime from Thorin’s boots had oozed into a puddle all over the carpet.

“I should move my filth elsewhere,” Thorin muttered, and strode off the carpet.

“No no no no no!” Bilbo sputtered. “What are you doing? Get back here,” he whispered scathingly.

Thorin blinked at him dumbly. “My apologies.” He moved back onto the carpet, trailing even more mud where it had been clean before.

Bilbo groaned into his hands. “What have I done? Bringing a dwarf home...Pa is going to have my head.”

“Master Baggins, I do not wish to trouble you and your parents,” Thorin said. “If you merely point me in the direction of the Ered Luin, I’m sure I can find my way back.”

“You silly dwarf, you got lost in _Bindbole_ ,” Bilbo sighed. “And it’s treacherous out there! Once the weather clears up, I’ll take you as far as I can go.”

Thorin nodded. Bilbo was both an infinitely fascinating and kindly creature, and he was grateful to be somewhere warm and away from those horrible woods, but his stomach twisted at the thought of his family worrying about him. He was due to return this evening, but at this rate he would be at least a day late; and he truly had no idea where in Arda he was anymore. His Amad and Dís would be absolutely livid if they found out he had gone to a fairy’s home, and Thorin knew he could never tell them.

 _I was ambushed by orcs_. Thorin would say. 

No, that would only make them overreact, fretting over him and asking for all the details.

 _I fell a bit ill from traveling in the rain so I stayed at an inn for an extra night._

Definitely not, they would fret as well, especially Oin, because ‘strong, healthy dwarrows should not fall prey to the common cold’. 

_I met a fairy with large hairy feet, I became fascinated with him and lost track of time, so we were caught in a thunderstorm and he took me to his home_.

Durin’s Beard. Thorin could never speak of any of this. Maybe if the fairies devoured him in the night, it would save him from finding a suitable explanation. 

“Are you alright, Thorin?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin snapped out of his thoughts. “Fine.”

Bilbo shuffled his muddy feet. “If you are uncomfortable, I will not force you to stay. I was being quite reckless today, wasn’t I? Confounded Took side, always getting me into trouble.”

He seemed to be muttering to himself. Thorin stepped closer to him. “Master Baggins, I confess I am rather confused by everything that’s happened. I have not been acting like myself. It is not like me to intrude on another’s hospitality like this.”

“What? You’re not intruding at all. I’m the one who brought you here,” Bilbo said. “It would be very unrespectable of me to leave you out in the rain, and my mum will be happy to take care of you. My Pa, well, he might be a tad apprehensive, but he’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”

“Do you intend to keep me as a pet?” Thorin asked, amused.

“Goodness me! That was not my intention, no,” a silly grin spread onto his face. “Unless you would like it to be?”

Thorin’s face flared up just as Belladonna came rushing back to them with two basins of water. “Here you boys go, wash and dry yourselves as best you can. I’ve already got the baths running.”

Bilbo was already scrubbing at his feet and ankles, and Thorin didn’t realize he was staring until Bilbo froze and looked up at him.

“Something the matter?” 

“I...um…” Thorin cleared his throat. “I must remove my boots.”

“Yes, you must,” Bilbo said, looking at Thorin like his beard had turned green. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No,” Thorin answered quickly. “Why would there be a problem?”

“Well, your face has gone very red.”

“Has it?” Thorin pressed the back of his hand to his cheek, and sure enough it was scorching. 

Bilbo smirked. “I won’t look.”

Thorin did his best to hide his relief when Bilbo turned away and continued scrubbing his feet. Fairies clearly did not care about others seeing their feet. Thorin did not blame them, for they were actually a bit attractive, all covered in hair and calluses. The stool behind Thorin creaked when he sat on it, and he dropped both of his boots with a _thud_. Sweat beaded at his temple as he kept his eyes on the back of Bilbo’s head while he slowly peeled off his foot covers. 

“Do your feet get sweaty in those things?” Bilbo asked, and Thorin nearly jumped out of his seat. Bilbo shielded his eyes and frantically apologized. 

“Bilbo,” Belladonna’s voice scolded from another room. “What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing, mum!” Bilbo called, then made sure he was completely turned away from Thorin when he continued. “Is something the matter, Thorin? You don’t want me to see your feet? I was actually quite curious about them.”

Thorin cleared his throat and resumed dipping his pale, smooth feet into the water basin. “Baring one’s feet is the same as...well…”

“Baring one’s cock?” Bilbo said nonchalantly. 

Thorin choked on air, sputtering violently and sloshing the water everywhere. 

“Goodness, are you quite alright?”

“Fine,” Thorin rasped. “I just did not expect…”

“Even a Fairy Prince such as myself can be quite crass, I suppose. You dwarves do have those... _tools_ , correct?”

“Tools? Such as a hammer, or pickaxe?” 

Bilbo breathed out a long sigh, mumbling something incoherent to himself. Thorin was in the middle of finally washing his feet when Bilbo whirled around once again. “You know, your feet were covered by your boots, so there’s no need to wash them. My mum clearly didn’t think that through.”

Thorin blinked. He hadn’t even realized. How strong _was_ this magic spell that Bilbo had put on him?

After more awkward fumbling, Thorin shoved his foot covers back on and Bilbo showed him to a bathroom. Apparently Bag-End had a master bathroom, Bilbo’s own bathroom, _and_ three guest bathrooms. There had been a time when Thorin enjoyed such luxury back in the royal wing of Erebor. Truly, Bag-End must be a fairy’s version of a castle.

“If you need help, just ring the third bell to the left there.” Bilbo pointed at a row of little bells on the wall next to the bath. Each one had a label for a different room. 

“I shall. Thank you, Master Baggins.” Thorin managed a smile as Bilbo shut the door. 

The water was still running, nearly filled to the brim. Thorin fumbled with the knobs, accidentally making the water come out faster, and just as it spilled over the edges he cranked them the opposite way and stopped it. He sighed in relief and mopped up the spill with his towel, then stripped off his clothes.

Just as he was about to discard his smallclothes, he paused. What if the fairies only wanted him clean so that he would taste better when they ate him? Perhaps they wanted him vulnerable, stripped of his clothes and weapons, and they would barge in and strike any moment now. 

“Don’t be a coward,” Thorin muttered, finished undressing, and sighed as he sunk into the warm marble bath.

With a _whoosh_ , the water overflowed and gushed over the edges due to Thorin’s weight and size. Thorin cursed loudly and rose out of the bath, and at that precise moment Bilbo knocked on the door.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Thorin yelped and cowered in the corner of the room, dripping all over and adding to the flood of bath water. “Do not come in, I am indecent. I will need a mop, if you have one.”

He heard Bilbo’s puttering feet, then soon came another knock. “Go ahead and sit in the bath, I will take care of the mess.”

Thorin wanted to protest, but Bilbo began to slowly open the door.

“Are you decent?” He asked

Thorin quickly stepped into the tub, being careful not to splash around even further, and lowered himself in, drawing his knees up to his chest when he was seated and making sure he was covered as much as possible. ‘Yes, come in,’ he grumbled, his cheeks flushing red as the door opened further. 

Bilbo kept his eyes averted as he stepped in. He let out a squeak when he saw the pools of water. “Oh you poor thing.”

Thorin huffed, drawing his knees up further as Bilbo got closer, beginning to mop. “Your bath is a little small for me.”

“Well, you are quite large, and the bath was made for hobbits! Nothing I can do about that.” 

“What?” Thorin scowled. “Made for...hobbies?”

“Hm?” Bilbo looked up at Thorin, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp. Thorin would have to be quite slow not to notice the way Bilbo’s eyes raked over his bare arms and shoulders for more than a mere moment. His mouth snapped shut, then he cleared his throat and busied himself with mopping.

A strange mischief washed over Thorin, and he twisted to the side, letting his arms rest on the edge of the bath. “Did something catch your eye, Fairy Prince?”

Bilbo shot him an incredulous look, then a smirk graced his lips. “Flirting with me while you're naked in my bathtub? Scandalous.”

Thorin gulped. Bilbo’s spell had gotten the better of him again. He withdrew his arms and went back to hugging his knees. The fact that Bilbo had seen Thorin’s mourning marks was almost as bad as him seeing Thorin’s bare feet. Thorin always made sure to cover himself when in the presence of Men or tree-shaggers, but it hadn’t even crossed his mind in front of Bilbo. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I?” Bilbo said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Thorin replied, softer than usual. “It is natural that we should have misunderstandings.”

“Yes, but that’s no excuse for me being improper.” Bilbo shook his head, muttering to himself as he finished mopping. “I best be going to my bath now, or Pa will have my head. I’ve been in here quite long enough!”

Thorin chuckled. “Peace, Master Baggins. Thank you for taking care of my mess.”

Bilbo waved him away. “You’re my guest! No need to thank me. Now, you get yourself cleaned up. There’s fresh towels right beside you there, and my mum has set out some dry clothes for you, although I can’t imagine they’ll fit very well.”

“I will try my best not to rip them.” Thorin grinned slightly at him. 

Bilbo chuckled as he padded to the door, flashing one last smile at Thorin before he left. Thorin sighed and sunk deeper into the tub-well, as deep as he could. He couldn’t fully extend his legs, but the warm soapy water was a blessing compared to what he had gotten used to in the Blue Mountains. During these summer months, they had taken to only washing with cold water, and usually that meant a quick wash with no time for enjoyment.

Thorin stopped in the middle of unraveling his braids. It felt odd to be doing such a thing in someone else’s home, especially someone he had only just met this very day, but they were mussed up and tangled and it was disrespectful for them to be in this state. So he finished what he started, running his fingers through his tangled mess, matted with mud, dirt, and various twigs. Dipping it under the water was glorious, although the bath water was already turning a concerning shade of brown. He quickly got to work with the soap, and was massaging his scalp when his thoughts took an unexpected turn and he wondered what it would feel like if it were Bilbo’s fingers digging into his mane of hair. Would his touch be gentle and soft, or surprisingly rough and purposeful? What would it feel like to have Bilbo sitting behind him, feeling the Fairy Prince’s soft middle pressed against his back? 

“Durin’s Beard,” Thorin breathed out, and did everything he could to think of anything else before his current issue got out of hand. Thorin had never had thoughts like this about anyone before, at least nothing strong enough to elicit such a...reaction. “There must be something in the water...or the air....” He scrubbed along his arms as vigorously as possible to distract himself and get out of the bath as soon as possible. 

The clothes Belladonna had set out were very much made for a fairy, all earthy colours and soft materials. However, they seemed to belong to quite a large fairy, as Thorin was able to fit into them fairly easily—that, or he had lost more weight than he thought. Once dressed, he viewed himself in the mirror and almost burst into laughter. The emerald tunic stretched across his chest but hung loosely around his middle, the top buttons threatening to snap, so he undid half of them and tucked the shirt into the brown trousers. The trousers seemed to be made for someone very round, perhaps even as round as Bombur, who as a chef in the Ered Luin is particularly round indeed, so Thorin was grateful for the straps attached to them. He copied the way Bilbo had been wearing similar straps, bringing them to fit snugly on his shoulders and help hold the slight-too-wide trousers up. Thorin combed through his hair, rebraided it and attached the beads, put his foot covers back on (they were regrettably very smelly) and left the bathroom.

“Master Baggins?” He called out, warily.

“Are you finished, Master Oakenshield?” Belladonna’s voice rang out along with the sound of her feet dashing down the hall. “How did the clothes fare?”

Thorin didn’t need to answer, as Belladonna had already reached where he stood and clapped her hands to her mouth to muffle an excited gasp and then began clapping. “You look splendid! Those belonged to my late father, the Old Took. He was quite large, you see, but that’s because he was very fat, not all muscle like you.” Belladonna cocked her head and appeared to be frowning at Thorin’s stomach. “On that note, you look like you're in need of a hearty meal! Come, come.”

“I-I thank you, but you do not need to—”

“Oh, hang that thought! Do you really think I would let a guest go hungry?” Belladonna clutched her chest as she led Thorin to the dining room, her wild curls bouncing around her shoulders. “We do not need to wait for Bilbo, he likes to splash around in his bath for hours sometimes.”

“I do not!” Bilbo yelled from behind a door as they passed. “I’ll be out in a moment, Mum!”

“Better hurry Darling,” Belladonna called. “Your dwarf is waiting for you!”

Bilbo audibly huffed whilst Thorin’s breath hitched, but he quickly forgot about it when he saw (and smelled) the display in the dining room. A colourful spread lay before him, consisting of a plate of sliced ham, a salad full of hard-boiled eggs, steaming sausages next to a pot of mustard and half of a strawberry pie.

“I hope this will be enough for you and Bilbo,” Belladonna said, pulling a chair out and inviting him to sit. “My husband and I were impatient and tucked in earlier.”

A strange mix of guilt and astonishment washed over Thorin as he sat. “You do not owe me such kindness, but I thank you.” He nodded in gratitude at Belladona, who gave him a warm smile.

“You’re our guest! Only a meal fit for a King will do.”

Thorin froze in his chair for a moment, wondering how in Arda Bilbo’s mother knew he was heir to the throne, before realizing it had only been a saying. Belladonna brought his attention to the empty mug next to his plate.

“What would you like to drink? Ale? Mead? Coffee? Tea?” She chattered away. “We also have bottles of the Old Winyard in the cellar, for special occasions.”

“A mug of ale sounds lovely, ma’am,” Thorin said.

“Ack, no need for that dear! You must call me Belladona, everyone else does.” She cocked a well-mannered eyebrow at him, until Thorin nodded with a small smile. ‘Good! Now, ale with dinner, tea before bed.” Belladonna puttered over to the pantry, which Thorin could see was stocked to the brim. 

The plinking rain on the round window in the room turned into hammering as the storm picked up again, thumping down on the roof. Thorin’s stomach twisted at the thought of his family eating small portions from the kitchens, waiting for his return. He could only hope they wouldn’t go looking for him; perhaps they would assume he found accommodations to avoid traveling in the rain? 

“Hullo Thorin.” Bilbo’s lilting voice brought Thorin out of his thoughts. “Have you started yet?”

“I was waiting for you,” Thorin half-lied. Bilbo slid into the seat across from him; his cheeks were flushed from the heat of his bath, hair fluffy in some places and still damp in others. He had changed into a striped shirt with several buttons undone, and Thorin wondered how in Arda someone could be so handsome. Bilbo’s eyes were glued to the food and he immediately began helping himself.

“Well, don’t wait for me any longer, or else I’ll eat it all before you can say ‘stickleback’,” he said, and took a large bite of ham.

Thorin chuckled, and Belladonna came back with two mugs of ale. 

“There you are, Bilbo” she chimed, sliding the mugs to each of them. “Look at how becoming Thorin is in the Old Took’s clothes, Darling. Isn’t he handsome?”

“Hm?” Bilbo seemed quite put-out to be distracted from his supper. His eyes rested on Thorin’s and his cheeks reddened. “Oh, now that’s something.”

Belladonna was giving Bilbo an expecting look.

“You look ravishing, Thorin,” Bilbo said, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion.

“So do you,” Thorin blurted.

Belladonna snorted quietly and swiftly left the room as if on cue, and Thorin decided to glare intensely at the plate of sausages while wishing the floor would swallow him up.

“Are you quite alright?” Bilbo asked. “Do you need to use the toilet?”

“No,” Thorin grunted, and grabbed two sausages, tore them in half and dipped them into the mustard before eating them. _Durin’s Beard, you stupid dwarf, learn to shut your mouth!_

Bilbo let out a gasp, and Thorin looked up to see him gaping. Thorin wiped dripping mustard from his beard. “Are _you_ quite alright, Master Baggins?” 

“Your manners are barbaric.” Bilbo crossed his arms. “If my Pa saw you, he’d drop dead.”

“Excuse me?” 

“For goodness sake.” Bilbo fumbled in his pocket and threw a piece of cloth across the table. “Use _that_ to wipe your beard, not your hands!”

Thorin puzzled at the piece of cloth—a pure white, with leaves embroidered along the edges, and the initials _B.B._ in the bottom corner.

“That’s a handkerchief,” Bilbo said pointedly. “You can keep that one.”

Thorin stuffed it into his pocket. “Master Baggins, what about my manners offends you so?”

Bilbo had the most incredulous look plastered on his face. “First of all, you should use the serving utensils, and then your cutlery. I’m not ignoring the fact that you’re a dwarf, and I don’t know how you lot eat back home, but you’re in Hobbiton now and you should learn our manners, don’t you think?”

“Hobbiton?” Thorin repeated. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?” 

“I think I know a thing or two about table manners, Bilbo.”

“Oh, is that so? Prove it, then.”

Thorin grunted, and dug into the furthest reaches of his memories of his royal etiquette lessons with Dís and Frerin back in Erebor. At some point they had learned proper table manners if one was dining with Men or (Mahal forbid) tree-shaggers, but all Thorin could remember was him and his siblings trying to hold in their fits of giggles and Frerin drawing inappropriate pictures of anatomy on his notes. 

“I confess I never learned proper fairy royalty dining etiquette.”

Bilbo stifled a laugh. “Oh, of course not. Well, it’s quite simple. Eat as much as you can, just don’t use your hands.”

At that, Bilbo loaded his plate again and kept his mouth full for a while. The cutlery looked tiny and delicate when Thorin held it in his hand, and it was a little difficult to use, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to defy Bilbo again. He could already hear his kin laughing in amusement, especially his sister and Dwalin, at how easily he fell under the Fairy Prince’s spell. According to the smug little grin on Bilbo’s face, he was rather amused by it as well.

“I always imagined fairies having wings,” Thorin said.

Bilbo smirked. “How do you know I don’t?” 

“Will you show me?”

“Well, do you want to tell me about those markings on your shoulders?”

Thorin shook his head. “I cannot. It is very private, and one of the many secrets of the dwarves.” 

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped a little. “Oh, I see. Well, perhaps we fairies have our own secrets as well, but what fun is there in that? How are we supposed to learn about each other’s cultures if it’s all supposed to be a secret?”

Thorin took a swig of ale. “Your mother said she used to read you books about my people.”

“Yes, well...” Bilbo shrugged sheepishly. “I always took more of an interest in Elves, actually.”

Thorin almost choked on his ale. He slammed his mug onto the table. “What’s so interesting about those tree-sh—Elves, I mean?” He shuddered at the word.

“Jealous, are you?” Bilbo teased, but cleared his throat when Thorin glared at him. “My mum acts like she knows a lot about dwarves, but really she only has two books about you. We have an entire collection of books about Elves, and I can even speak some Sindarin.”

Thorin felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and trampled on. 

“Oh my, you look like you might start spouting steam from your ears any moment now,” Bilbo laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was such a touchy subject.”

“The Elves are a selfish people. When my people were suffering, they turned their back on us. They’ve never helped us, and never will,” Thorin growled, and downed the rest of his ale. 

Bilbo fiddled with his sleeves. “Your people suffered?”

“We still suffer,” Thorin snapped, and rose from his seat. He had said too much once again. “I’ve already abused your family’s hospitality enough. I should take my leave.”

“Thorin, please.” Bilbo stood up as well. “I’m willing to listen.”

Thorin shook his head. “Please, I should not burden you any longer.”

“You're not—” Bilbo huffed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, if you’d like, you can go. I’m just worried about you getting lost and catching a cold in this rain.”

Thorin blinked at him. “You would let me go?”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “You’re not our prisoner, Thorin. I just wanted to help, and perhaps I find you interesting, much more interesting than any Elf or Wizard I’ve met or read about. But I have no right to force you to stay here and I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of surviving the elements.”

Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but someone entered the room.

“Alright, what’s all this racket about?” A fairy with silver curls hobbled in with a cane in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. When his eyes landed on Thorin he tilted his head down and peered at him over the rim of his glasses.

“Evening, Pa. This is my erm, friend, Thorin,” Bilbo said. “Thorin, this is my father, Bungo Baggins.”

“That’s Mister Baggins to you,” Bungo said proudly. “Well, I always knew my son was odd, but I never expected him to bring a dwarf home. What is your family name, lad?”

Thorin bowed his head. “I am Thorin, son of Thrain.”

“Alright, Thorin son of Thrain, will you help my son clear the table? Bella and I are off to bed,” Bungo said, and Thorin nodded rigidly.

Bilbo sighed. “Goodnight, Pa.”

“You will show him to the guest room,” Bungo told Bilbo, wagging his finger at him. “No funny business in Bag End tonight, you hear me?” 

“Pa, he is just my friend,” Bilbo said through gritted teeth. “Now, goodnight, tell Mum I will take care of cleaning everything up.”

He linked his arm with his father’s and led him out of the dining room, the two of them muttering to each other, and Thorin went to the window and watched the rain coming down in sheets. His eyelids were heavy, and he ached for a smoke and a soft bed.

Thorin didn’t even hear Bilbo come back until the clinking of plates reached his ears. 

“Don’t mind my Pa, he’s nearing his nineties, and it’s quite natural that old gentlehobbits become quite grumpy and unfiltered,” Bilbo said.

Thorin chuckled and began helping Bilbo clear the table. “There is no need to apologize on his behalf.”

“He has always been a very respectable hobbit, dare I say the most respectable hobbit in all of the Shire. He and my mum make quite the pair, her being a Took and all. And here I am, a mix of both!”

Thorin blinked at him. “Master Baggins, I do not mean to offend, but I hardly understood a word of what you just said. What is a hobbit, and what is a Took?”

Bilbo gave him a long, thoughtful look before he answered. “I suppose it’s time I tell you the truth. I’m not a fairy, or a prince for that matter. I’m just a hobbit.”

Thorin was still lost. “But what is a hobbit?”

“A hobbit is...” Bilbo gestured down at himself, then cleared his throat. “Hobbits have been living in the four Farthings of the Shire for many hundreds of years, and most are quite content to ignore and be ignored by the rest of the world. We have a passion for food, ale, and pipeweed, and all of us share a love for anything that grows, be it flowers, trees, or crops of course.”

Thorin cocked his head. “So you are not a fairy at all?”

“Not in the slightest, no! Fairies are little magical creatures with wings, like you said, and they only exist in children’s stories I believe,” Bilbo said. “I used to go looking for them when I was a fauntling.”

“So you are not magic?”

“There is little or no magic about us, I’m afraid, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps us to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk come blundering along.”

Bilbo was clearly quite exasperated, but Thorin could not believe it. Was Bilbo trying to trick him?

“I thought you had cast a spell on me all this time,” Thorin said after a long silence.

“Spell? What kind of spell?” Bilbo snorted. “Thorin, I think you were in the sun too long today. You should rest, come, I’ll show you to your room.”

“I assure you, I’m well,” Thorin said, but now his stomach was doing backflips and his heart fluttered in his chest. If it hadn’t been a spell, then what had been the reason for all his strange behaviour today? Why did he find Bilbo so fascinating and comely? Why did some unseen force continue to pull him toward this creature that he only met this afternoon? Bilbo was likely trying to conceal his magic from him. 

Bilbo clutched Thorin’s arm and pulled him out of the dining room, past the kitchen and down a long dimly lit hallway. “Come on, off to bed with you. You’ll need your rest if you’ll be making the journey home tomorrow.”

A sudden crack of thunder made Thorin jump out of his daze and he stumbled a little. Bilbo held onto him as he struggled to slow his breathing. 

“Oh dear, you're afraid of thunder aren’t you?” Bilbo tutted, gently rubbing Thorin’s arm.

“It startled me, that’s all,” Thorin mumbled. Heat crackled through his skin where Bilbo touched him, heat that spread all the way up his arm to his ears. 

Bilbo gave him a worried look, but to Thorin’s relief he didn’t say anymore about it. “Well, here’s your room. It’s right next to mine, in case you need anything.”

Thunder rumbled again and Thorin flinched, peering up at the ceiling. 

Bilbo shuffled awkwardly. “I assure you our smial is very safe. The storm will pass quickly, I’m sure.” He let go of Thorin’s arm and fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. “If you would like company, though…”

“Thank you, but I’ll be alright,” Thorin replied. That was a lie. He would like Bilbo’s company very much.

Bilbo gave him a lopsided smile. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight,” Thorin said thickly, and shut himself inside the room, shutting the door harder than he meant to. The lingering feeling of Bilbo’s hand running soothing strokes along his arm continued to crackle and heat his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in here is ‘Song of Durin’, a poem sung by Gimli in the Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait! Here's a very fluffy chapter.

* * *

Thorin could not sleep. Although the guest room Bilbo had given him was the perfect image of comfort and coziness, Thorin was kept awake with thoughts of his family worrying about him, and the storm raged on outside. His heart rate spiked every time thunder cracked and rumbled nearby, jolting him awake and in a panic every time he began to doze off. 

His pipeweed had been ruined due to the rain, and he wasn’t sure if it would be polite to smoke in a fairy’s home anyway. So he decided on one of his other methods to calm himself. He drew in a small breath, and hummed a tune, then began to sing the words as softly as he could.

_The world was young, the mountains green,_

_No stain yet on the Moon was seen,_

_No words were laid on stream or stone_

_When Durin woke and walked alone._

_He named the nameless hills and dells;_

_He drank from yet untasted wells;_

_He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,_

_And saw a crown of stars appear,_

_As gems upon a silver thread,_

_Above the shadow of his head._

_The world was fair, the mountains tall,_

_In Elder Days before the fall_

_Of mighty kings in Nargothrond_

_And Gondolin, who now beyond_

_The Western Seas have passed away:_

_The world was fair in Durin's Day._

He continued on, his volume unknowingly rising more than he would’ve liked. It didn’t really help him, however, as a booming crack of thunder interrupted him before he finished. The thunder had been so violent that he felt it deep in his chest and throat, reverberating throughout the room. 

Then a knock at the door made him sit up so fast that he had to blink away stars. 

“Hello?” He called, his voice hoarse. He was still trying to calm himself after the thunder.

The round door creaked open, and there was Bilbo, his honey curls slightly flattened on one side of his head. He wore a striped shirt only buttoned up halfway, hastily tucked into brown trousers. One suspender was on his shoulder and the other at his hip; a sign that he had quickly changed into clothing in order to visit Thorin’s room.

“Mind if I come in?” He asked warily.

“Not at all,” Thorin said, a little flustered, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Were you not even under the quilt?” Bilbo asked, looking distraught.

Thorin had indeed been laying on top of the quilt, and already felt guilty enough for using one of the pillows. “I am quite warm, and I do not wish to make your guest bedroom smell too strongly of dwarf.”

Bilbo snorted. “Oh, hang that, Thorin! You should know by now that you’re allowed to make yourself comfortable here. You are quite silly, you know.”

“Why have you come?” Thorin asked, staring down at his lap.

“Well.” Bilbo cleared his throat, and by the creaking of the floor, Thorin could tell he was shifting between his feet. “I heard you singing.”

Thorin’s breath hitched. “You could hear me? Durin’s Beard, I did not mean to—”

“Oh, none of that!” Bilbo snapped, then shushed himself. “I thought it sounded lovely. Like a lullaby, but then that blasted thunder woke me back up. I was worried you might be having trouble sleeping, so I brought this.”

He held out a reddish-brown leather bag, with the initials _B.B._ embroidered in yellow in the middle, and a pipe—the same long pipe he had seen him smoking from when they first met in the forest. 

Thorin could have kissed Bilbo right then and there, but he settled on raising an eyebrow and giving him a little smile. “You are willing to share with me?”

“Of course, we’ve got barrels of it in the cellar,” Bilbo said smugly. “This is Old Toby, also known as Longbottom Leaf, the finest weed in the South Farthing. Do you have a pipe?”

“I do,” Thorin said, and got up to rummage in his pack. “Regrettably, it is not nearly as impressive as yours.”

Bilbo chuckled, already packing his pipe. “Yours is more practical. It makes sense, somehow. I didn’t even think to ask if dwarves smoke before I barged in here. I’m relieved we’re the same on that front, at least.”

“Indeed,” Thorin said, and handed Bilbo his pipe so he could pack it for him. The initial fear that Thorin had felt when he first arrived in Bag End had almost completely disappeared, yet there was still a tiny voice warning him not to smoke too much, in case this was part of the fairy’s plan. Yet, Bilbo sat there, brow furrowed in concentration, all soft and handsome, and Thorin could not imagine him being capable of harming anything or anyone. 

_Soft and handsome?_ Thorin scolded himself inside. Evil or not, Bilbo’s spell was still working it’s magic on him. It was probably why he felt so warm at Bilbo’s close proximity as he took a seat on Thorin’s bed. 

“Here you are,” Bilbo said, and just as Thorin reached out for his pipe, thunder cracked again and he jumped. 

Thorin clutched his chest, his heart hammering against it, his ears ringing and muffling Bilbo’s voice. Then he felt a soft, gentle hand clasp his, and he was grounded again. He looked at Bilbo, who was leaning closer, examining Thorin’s face.

“Oh goodness, you’re truly terrified of thunder, aren’t you?” 

He recognized the worried look in his eyes. Thorin looked away, sliding his hand out from underneath Bilbo’s. 

“Sorry,” Bilbo said softly. “Forget I said anything.” 

Thorin took a deep breath, then took to lighting his pipe. Bilbo was already smoking, and as they sat in silence for a while, Thorin watched him blow small smoke rings across the room. He waited for Bilbo to send another one sailing into the air, and Thorin made a smoke ring as well, much bigger than Bilbo’s.

“Hm.” Bilbo squeaked. “Impressive,” he said, only a little begrudgingly.

Thorin just grinned. He shifted and leaned back on the headboard, tilting his chin up as he blew out smoke. The pipeweed was indeed the best he had ever had in a long time, perhaps the best in his life. After several minutes of companionable silence, Thorin couldn’t be sure whether it was the pipeweed or Bilbo’s presence that calmed him down so much now.

“I’m not afraid of thunder, but I _am_ afraid of water,” Bilbo said suddenly, leaning back against the bedpost opposite to Thorin. “I’m not a strong swimmer, and I nearly drowned once.”

“Really?” Thorin felt his chest clench at the thought. “Did it happen when you were a pebble?”

“A pebble?” Bilbo cackled. 

“I mean, when you were a child,” Thorin said. 

“Ah, we call children fauntlings,” Bilbo said, with a sweet smile that made Thorin’s stomach flip. “But no, I’m afraid my accident happened when I was in my tweens. At my cousin Drogo’s birthday party.”

“Tweens?” Thorin raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo gave him an exasperated look. “Thorin, please. Your tweens are before you come of age. So, this happened recently, only five years ago or so.”

Now Thorin wondered how old Bilbo was, but he refrained from asking anymore questions as he was clearly getting impatient. “Go on.”

“We had, erm, overindulged in the Gaffer’s home brew, and after the party, several of us ran off to continue indulging near the duck pond. Now, it wasn’t my fault, it was my cousin Drogo’s! He lost his balance and pulled me into the water with him, and Primula and Adelard had to dive in and rescue us. Primula is an excellent swimmer, and she’s always been sweet on Drogo, so of course she saved him first. Adelard eventually got me out, after I almost pulled him under with me. I passed out, actually, and had to get hauled to a doctor in the middle of the night. My Pa was most unimpressed of course, but Mum only laughed at me and said I need to build up my tolerance.”

As Bilbo babbled on, Thorin found himself in a daze, barely hearing Bilbo's words and instead admiring all of his little expressions, and the soft folds under his chin, and the little bit of hair peeking out of his unbuttoned shirt. It matched the hair on his head, but the hair on his feet was darker and coarse. Once again he wondered how Bilbo might react if Thorin touched it, and his mind continued to wander into very unforgivable territory, until Bilbo was waving his hand in front of his face.

“Oh, Master Baggins,” Thorin grunted. “This Tobe Oldy is nice.”

“Tobe…? Do you mean Old Toby?” Bilbo snorted. “Well, I’m glad it’s working for you.”

Thorin just nodded slowly, and then a crack of thunder made him jump once again. Bilbo immediately leaned forward and grabbed his hand, his thumb smoothing over his knuckles. Thorin’s heart rate spiked again, but this time it was not because of the thunder.

“Do you have a story to share about your fear of thunder?” Bilbo asked, and when he went to pull his hand away, Thorin caught it. _Fairy magic._ Magic powerful enough to make Thorin want to tell Bilbo the truth. For Bilbo had believed Thorin to be a simple blacksmith until now; would his feelings toward him change if he knew who Thorin really was? Where he came from?

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bilbo said softly, sliding across the quilt to sit closer.

“I wish to,” Thorin said, and felt a knot in his throat when Bilbo pulled his hand away. Bilbo lowered his head, but Thorin could see the tips of his pointy ears glowing red. “Many years ago, the dragon Smaug attacked my homeland, Erebor.”

“A dragon?” Bilbo squeaked, perking up significantly.

“I’m not sure what you know about dragons, but Smaug is a foul creature. He destroyed my home and forced my people into exile,” Thorin said, clenching and unclenching his fist to stop himself from getting riled up. “I have had night terrors involving the attack ever since, and thunder seems to send me into a panic. One of my kin, Oin, has given me medicine to help with it, but sometimes I can only sing to myself or smoke to calm down.”

Bilbo blinked at him. “I’m sorry, Thorin.”

“I’d rather not have your pity,” Thorin said. “I want you to know the truth about me. My lineage is—”

“I would like to know more about you, yes, but you are acting strange. You don’t need to tell me about your lineage if you don’t want to, Thorin. Whatever it is, it won’t change the fact that I like you,” Bilbo said. “You told me about the dragon, and I’d rather not have you feeling down while you’re my guest.”

Thorin wasn’t sure what to say, but he felt a deep relief, and let out a deep sigh. The tenseness in his shoulders melted away. 

“You like me?” Was all Thorin replied.

Bilbo shifted a little. “Yes. Very much. Do you like me?”

“I do,” Thorin said, his voice low. He had never wanted to kiss someone so much before. _Fairy magic._

“A little too early for wedding vows, don’t you think?” Bilbo let out a breathy laugh, and Thorin realized he had been leaning in. Bilbo hastily got up from the bed and set his pipe aside. “Oh my, I smoked more than I thought.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Thorin asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Again, pipeweed and fairy magic did not mix well. His words were slightly slurred, as were Bilbo’s, and Thorin feared what might happen if he got off the bed.

“I’m not leaving, silly dwarf,” Bilbo said, his voice much lower than usual, as if he was trying to imitate someone. “Ah, you look like a very comfortable pillow.”

“What?” Thorin gaped as Bilbo scooched closer.

“Ah, terribly sorry, don’t mind me.” Bilbo flopped back onto the pillow next to Thorin’s, letting out a long sigh. “Oh dear, I might not make it back to my own room.”

Thorin’s face felt terribly hot now. “You...are welcome to sleep here, if you wish.”

“Mum and Pa will be so scandalized,” Bilbo cackled. “Well, perhaps they won’t. I think they expected this.”

“Expected what, exactly?”

“Oh, don’t pretend to be all innocent, Master Dwarf.”

“Innocent?” Thorin cleared his throat. “You are not suggesting...you are not proposing, er…”

Bilbo opened one eye to look up at Thorin. “I’m not proposing anything. We only just met, Thorin. Not that kind of hobbit, I’m not. Used to be. Although I could be that kind of hobbit. If you want.”

“Are you well, Master Baggins?” Thorin set his pipe aside, wondering if he would soon need to be scraping a fairy off the floor.

Bilbo yawned, his mouth becoming a giant gaping cavern, and then he smacked his lips. “I am very well, Thorin. Please call me Bilbo.”

The thunder seemed to have died down, or perhaps Thorin was so relaxed that he didn’t notice it anymore. His eyelids were heavy, yet the sight of Bilbo lying next to him was enough to jolt him awake again. As much as he didn’t mind sharing the bed with Bilbo, he knew it wouldn’t be pretty when Bilbo woke up with a clear head and threw Thorin out of the house for being disrespectful. Thorin’s legs felt as heavy as Mahal’s giant axes as he swung them off the bed.

“What’re you doing?” Bilbo asked.

“I will sleep on the floor. Don’t worry, I am used to sleeping in unsavory conditions, and—”

“Don’t you dare,” Bilbo growled. “Not in my house, Thorin Oakenshield! You come back here at once. We are both adults, yes? Not some giggling meddling tweens. We can share a bed and be mature about it.”

Thorin continued to slide off the bed, grabbing the pillow behind him. “I assure you, I will be fine on the floor. I do not wish to offend you.”

“Don’t make me drag you back here,” Bilbo threatened. “What were those tales you heard about fairies? Hm? Well, perhaps they were true. Do you want me to eat you? I could turn you into some nice bacon. I am rather hungry for a midnight snack.”

Thorin found that he truly did not care anymore. He laughed as he stumbled off the bed. “Threaten me all you want, Master Baggins, I would like to see you try to best me.”

“In that case—” _Thud._ Bilbo had rolled off the bed and immediately fallen flat on his face. 

“Bilbo?” Thorin called, stifling laughter but also being mildly concerned. He practically had to crawl to him before flipping him onto his back, finding him fast asleep. A snore dragged out of him, his mouth hanging open slightly. Thorin smiled fondly.

It would not do to wake him, but Bilbo would wake up with a crick in his neck and an aching back if he slept on the floor like this. Thorin tucked his arms underneath Bilbo’s small frame and lifted him back onto the bed; he stirred slightly, and to Thorin’s surprise, clung tightly onto his tunic and nuzzled his face into his chest. He groaned loudly in protest as Thorin tried to move away.

“What in Durin’s name is happening,” Thorin muttered.

“You are very warm,” Bilbo said, his eyes still closed. “I don’t want to lose the warmth.”

Thorin was very warm indeed, as a blush had spread from his ears to his chest. Very well. He lifted Bilbo again to put him on the opposite side of the bed, and laid down next to him. They both lay on top of the blankets, but it was too late to change that, as Bilbo had immediately snuggled right up to Thorin, pressing his cheek to his chest.

“I never thought a dwarf would make such a comfortable pillow,” Bilbo murmured. “You know, I always thought dwarves were made of stone. Like walking statues. Or gargoyles.”

He began to snort and cackle at that. Thorin frowned down at him, still wondering where he should put his hands. Right now they were folded across his stomach. “I suppose you learned that from your mother’s books?”

“I told you, I hardly read anything about dwarves. You can hardly blame me for thinking your people were literally made of stone. You even call your children pebbles.”

“There are tales of us being born from stone. Tree-shaggers also believe we’re made of stone,” Thorin said, his voice full of contempt. 

“Tree-shaggers?” Bilbo squeaked. “What on Earth—”

“Elves,” Thorin hissed. 

Bilbo only laughed. “Come to think of it, aren’t elves more like fairies than hobbits?”

“You are nothing like an elf, aside from your ears,” Thorin said, and a wave of boldness (and the fact that his arms were falling asleep under Bilbo’s weight) caused him to reach up and touch the tip of Bilbo’s pointed ear.

Bilbo yelped and lifted his head. “I would advise you not to do that, unless you fancy being tickled.”

“I find your threats very unconvincing,” Thorin said with a grin, and reached up to touch Bilbo’s ear again.

“That’s it,” Bilbo said, and grabbed his pillow and brought it down upon Thorin’s face, which Thorin swiftly blocked. 

And so a very short pillow fight ensued, soon turning into a battle of tickles, and somehow ended with Thorin pinning Bilbo down, their faces inches away from each other. Thorin’s breath hitched when Bilbo’s gaze flickered to his lips, and he quickly withdrew and laid back on his side of the bed.

“Fairy magic,” he muttered. “What kind of spell have you put on me?”

Bilbo huffed. “Seriously, Thorin, you don’t really still believe I’m a fairy, do you? I told you, I’m a hobbit! What kind of spell are you talking about, anyway?”

“The kind that makes me...act strange around you.”

Bilbo just frowned at him in confusion. “I can assure you, you’re acting on your own accord. I have nothing to do with that.”

 _Do you not?_ Thorin wanted to say, because clearly, his excuse of being under a spell was getting less and less unconvincing by the second. Perhaps he really just... _liked_ Bilbo. He was hopelessly _attracted_ to Bilbo. Bilbo the hobbit, not Bilbo the magical fairy prince. 

“Perhaps you should just get some sleep,” Bilbo said lazily, yawning. “Goodnight, Thorin.”

Thorin’s heart was fluttering. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at this realization that these feelings were not the work of magic; these feelings were like nothing Thorin had ever felt before. Something he never thought he _could_ feel. Now he was giddy and unable to sleep.

“Bilbo,” he whispered. “What is the answer to that riddle you told me in the forest?”

“Go to sleep,” Bilbo hissed, and then rolled over to nuzzle against Thorin’s side again.

There was a short silence before Bilbo lifted his head. “Would you mind singing again?”

Thorin blushed. “I could...but our songs are not supposed to be shared. They speak of very secret, ancient tales.”

“Oh, come now. Don’t you have simple songs you sing for children?”

Thorin immediately thought of the songs he and Dís used to sing to Fíli and Kíli when they were very young. The same songs his Amad sang when he was a pebble, and still hummed some nights. 

“I confess I might feel a little strange singing them for you,” Thorin said warily.

“That’s alright. Perhaps another time,” Bilbo said, and the thought of ‘another time’ made Thorin’s heart skip. “I’ll sing something for you tomorrow, on our walk back to Bindbole.”

“I shall look forward to it,” said Thorin, and soon the hobbit was fast asleep. 

It wasn’t long before Thorin found sleep as well despite the distant rumble of thunder, and for the first time in a long while, his dreams were peaceful.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi to me on [tumblr!](https://raventhorin.tumblr.com/)


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